


Be Careful What You Wish For

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Silmarillion prompts & short fic [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Aulë attempts counseling, Cautionary Tale, Drabble, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Prompt Fic, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: Mairon has found his soulmate in Melkor. Aulë counsels him to be cautious. Melkor is not all as he seems to be.





	Be Careful What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> From a list of prompts over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com). I open prompts semi-regularly, if you want to come check me out. This was a batch from about a month ago.
> 
> I prefer not to write Angbang, but I hadn't made that clear at the time of prompting. I don’t mind Angbang- except for its potential to slip into the dark and disturbing very easily- but I do find it incredibly boring. Here’s why: it’s a very large majority of what’s been coming out of the Sil fandom, and everyone always uses the same archetypes for them: Sauron the redheaded twink, and Melkor the looming dark-haired white guy. It’s fuckin’ boring. So here’s some not boring Angbang, because they are literal gods and can look like whatever the hell they want to.

Aulë calls Mairon aside, looking grave and concerned. For a Vala who literally built his animate form from a mountainside, it’s an intimidating look. Then again, Mairon’s corporeal form was forged from iron and copper and tin, his eyes shining, molten pools of metal. He has no hair, because it’s inconvenient, gets in the way more often than not. He’s twice the height of an elf, but Aulë is bigger. They’re both broad-shouldered, corded with the heavy muscle of smithwork. A thought makes Mairon’s hands transform back into hands, rather than the tongs and hammer.

“Master Aulë,” Mairon says, and his voice the bell of hammer on hot metal, the hiss of quenching, the rhythmic beat of a drum.

“I’m told you found your soulmate the other day.” Aulë says, and his voice is the grind of stone on stone, the distant rumble of an avalanche, a heavier, slower drumbeat than Mairon’s own.

“I did,” he confirms, looking down at his hands. Around one is wrapped a strand that looks the red of mortal blood. Currently the strand vanishes into nothingness, but on that day in his forge, it had led straight to another person. A Vala.

He had been strangely small and thin and ethereal to Mairon’s molten eyes, only standing head and shoulders above the tallest of the elves and robed in cloth that looked like firey lava. His limbs were overly long, his fingers like delicate twigs. Those fingers had been the blue of frostbitten, dead flesh, though his mobility was unimpaired. He had been crowned with fire for hair, but the precipitate that rolled from his form had been freezing mist, not hot smoke. His eyes had been especially arresting, one a bright-burning coal, the skin around it stained burning-black and riddled with molten cracks; the other a pale, ice-white, the skin around that one again blue as frostbitten dead flesh, and spiderwebbed with frost.

And around one disproportionately long finger, had wrapped the other end of Mairon’s strand of heartsblood.

“I urge you to be cautious, Mairon. Manwë’s brother he may be, and released from behind the Doors of Night he is, but Melkor is a fickle being. He is chaos incarnate, and I fear for you, faithful Mairon.” Aulë says gravely. “I will not presume to keep you from your soulmate, but please, be cautious. And know that if you ever need advice, or a place to go, mine and Yavanna’s halls will ever be open for you.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Mairon says after a moment of internal conflict. That Aulë himself thinks his match concerning enough to offer him sanctuary should he need it troubles him. “I will take your words into consideration, and proceed with caution.” Marion promises, and Aulë smiles at him benevolently, clapping him on the shoulder and departing to his wife’s halls.

Mairon has much to think upon.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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